Hurt
by ExLibris3
Summary: Jibbs angst. Gibbs angst. He isn't flawless. She is. They're both hurting, in their own way.


The rain smatters down against the window pane as he stares out with unseeing eyes

**Hurt**

The rain smatters down against the window pane as he stares out with unseeing eyes. The coffee cup is warm in his hand; he subconsciously clutches it with whitened knuckles. His breath condenses on the cool glass, blurring his vision but he couldn't care less. Because he isn't really focusing his gaze on anything existing in the present, no, his mind is far back in the past, reliving the nightmare that had ended with him here, staring emotionlessly out through a hospital window.

The muscles around his mouth twitch as he involuntarily drifts back to a few hours ago.

_He smiled at her, handing her a cup of freshly brewed coffee from Starbucks. An equally broad grin grazed her features as she wrapped her hand around the cup he was offering, her cold fingers brushing his, just before he withdrew them. They were still tingling from the brief moment when they had been in contact with hers. Her intensely green eyes studied him carefully over the brim of the cup as she took a deep drink of the hot liquid. __His hand tentatively reached out toward hers, clutching it securely in his own. He recognized the look in her eyes, knowing what was on her mind and he had no reason at all to question it. His strong hand slipped to the small of her back pulling her slightly closer. She smiled sweetly at the slightly possessive claim for her, but nevertheless tilted her head up to kiss him. But before her lips could touch his, a sharp bang pierced the air, followed by screams from the surrounding people and he felt her freeze in her path toward his lips, not quite grasping what had really happened. Not until he felt something warm and wet trickle down his hand still resting on her back. He felt as though an ice-cold hand took a death-grip on his heart as she fell limp in his arms, blood pooling down her body from the gunshot wound in her back. Her eyes glazed over, his name came over her lips in a faint whisper – too faint – and the light that had been visible in her eyes seconds ago was fading fast. He held on to her tightly, willing the blood to stop, knowing she was fading fast and practically ordering her to hold on. It was only the reassuring hand of a paramedic on his shoulder that could make him relinquish his compulsive grip around Jen's limp body._

The sharp sound of a hand contacting with head echoes through the still hospital room. He closes his eyes and fists his hand, wanting his hand print to be firmly implanted in the back of his head, knowing all too well he deserves it. This is all his fault. If he hadn't been too enchanted by her intriguing eyes the way he had been, if he hadn't been so eager to kiss her that he'd lost his flawless ability to protect. He isn't flawless. She is. She is, and because of that, he hadn't been on his guard, too lost in her deep green eyes to take notice in anything that happened around the little bubble they had been in. A bullet had punctured that bubble, and for a moment he thought their newfound passion had reached an untimely end.

The faint rumble of thunder shortly follows by a lightning bolt that illuminates the darkened room. His heavy breathing causing a fine steam appear on the window, so close is he standing, wanting to be anywhere but where he is. At the same time, not for the world wanting to leave this room. He becomes incredibly aware of the steady beeping behind him, and for the first time since he entered hours ago, he turns away from the window with its view over darkness and his eyes, a pale shade of blue and holding a heartbreakingly deep sadness, lands on the woman in the hospital bed.

His grip around the coffee cup is painfully hard, but he doesn't acknowledge the hurt in his knuckles, his eyes too focused on her chest, watching it slowly rise and fall, her breathing calm, but in fear of it all being an illusion, he cannot force his eyes off her.

He stands in the stiff posture of a marine, not moving a muscle, but the look in his eyes is the look of a man with too much tragedy in his life to have room for one more, a man that have looked at death before, and finds he's not ready to face it again. It hurts to realize he could have saved her, should have saved her, from this pain. She's too tempting for her own good, and he doesn't think he can be with her if it means putting her life at risk. He cannot live with that, just like he cannot live without her. While battling his internal struggle, his expression strains as she moves her head, tilting it to her side, before seeing a small smile graze her lips in her slumber.

Still not certain how he will be able to live without seeing that smile every morning when he wakes up, without ever feeling her supple lips against him, without ever making love to her like there's no tomorrow, he stiffly moves from his position by the window, squeezing her hand one last time, before turning his back to the bed, hot tears burning behind his eyes. He hadn't realized it would be so painful to be leaving her.

"Jethro?" he freezes in his escape upon hearing her voice, thick with sleep and low from exhaustion. But the pleading, he hadn't missed.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the darkness, not turning to look at her.

"I know," she doesn't deny anything, doesn't accuse him of anything either. She doesn't have to; he already knows too well he could have prevented her from this pain. He doubts she wants him here, he could have killed her. But his is unable to move, the sound of her voice roots him to the ground and he doesn't know what is keeping him from leaving.

"Jethro," her voice fails her, trails off without finishing her sentence, and he instantly becomes worried, and can no longer stop himself from turning around. His eyes find her, slumped back heavily against the pillows and eyes closed. Before he can control his legs, he is standing by her side. Before he can stop his arm, he clutches her hand in his, gently caressing the back of her hand.

"Jethro," she whispers again, a faint smile slips over her lips.

"I'm here," he says, her small hand feels warm in his.

"Good," she responds and he knows she's about to fall back to sleep. Yet she forces her eyes to open, he sees the pain in the bright green, knowing she is hurting, knowing to some extent he's the only one who can heal her.

"It wasn't your fault," she tries to catch his eyes, tries to assure him there was nothing he could have done to stop the shooter from taking fire. "You saved me," her voice drifts away again, this time he doesn't get scared that she's gonna die on him. He knows she's just exhausted.

"Did you really think I would let you go without a fight?" he says and sees her smile again, eyes shut.

"No," she replies. "Jethro?" adding as she feels his hand slip from hers.

"Yes?"

"Don't leave me. Ever. You promise?" with the little strength she can muster up, she squeezes his hand. He reclaims his grip on her hand, his grip strong, as if wanting to transfer some of his strength into her fragile body. In that exact moment realizes he is nowhere near ready to let her go.

"I won't leave you. Ever. I promise," he assures her, feeling her hand loosen a bit in his grasp as she drifts off to sleep again.

He only just now realizes he's crumbled the empty coffee cup in his other hand. He looks at it and blinks, as if surprised to find it that way. He throws it into the trash, clasping her hand in both of his. He doesn't feel anger, doesn't feel pain. Seeing her smile in sleep and feeling the warmth from her petite hand in his takes all that away. But much as she tries, she cannot make him feel less guilty. He could have killed her, could have ended the life that is his entire world. But she is still with him, by some goddamn miracle. And he is not by any chance leaving her. Ever. That's a promise.

**The End**


End file.
